Messages - crow

None of this is very helpful, since unless you are able to not-think, the whole idea of not-thinking is unknowable. Put as simply as possible: not-thinking enables one to respond seamlessly to whatever arrives, without the disaster-prone interpretation that the mind forces. You can never really know yourself by thinking about it. If you think about it, you will interpret your own thoughts, and whatever you are will remain invisible to you. Being, is knowing. Thinking, is not. Knowing, in this context, is something that does not result from thinking.

Is my body like a shelter I am staying in? or a vehicle I am travelling in?

Nobody addressed this question

I've often considered my physical body to be as you describe. A place for me to be, a way to get around. A means of getting physical things done, in a physical environment. While being - like a vehicle - not 'me'. People often identify with what they own, and especially with their cars. It's hardly surprising, then, for people to mistake their life-support/transportation system for who they are.

In the incredible way of the young, years ago, I finally left my '66 Rambler American for dead, and bought a new AMC Eagle. I imagined, naively, that everyone would be really impressed with my new car, only to find that nobody gave a toss, if they even noticed it, at all. Probably, for most, this is the reaction people have to other peoples' bodies. Much to the dismay of anyone who imagines their body to be beautiful.

I had a strange experience a year or two ago. I lay, beneath a tall fir tree, out in the forest, gazing up into the canopy, aware of the endless, gentle rain of needles, falling to the ground, and onto me. It was cool, the sky overcast, and a raven cackled nearby, patiently. I thought about all those falling needles, gradually covering everything, until there was only an indistinct lump, out in the forest. All trees end up like that, slowly decaying, underneath a ever-deepening carpet of debris and moss. Not a bad end, I thought. easy, gradual, natural... It was sad, but not sad. Poignant, perhaps.

I see myself being made use of, in the end, by birds, animals, insects, and finally by trees. In the manner of plains indians, left out under the sky, on a wooden platform. Probably that will not be the way it will be, but that is how I imagine it.

The manner of my death? A gradual fading out, and losing touch with life, snuggled under my blanket of needles, somewhere in the forest.

It's the way of the young to want to be 'somebody'. Nothing unusual about that. Age generally takes care of it. But when it doesn't, some investigation is in order. It is probably a healthy thing to want to be somebody, as long as that somebody you wish to be is you, and not somebody you definitely are not.

One of the major challenges everybody faces at some point, is figuring out who they are. It would seem to be a simple enough thing, but it can be considerably more difficult that it seems. The longer you leave it, the more difficult it becomes.